


take the world

by glowinghorizons



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Modern Royalty, Princess Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:39:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6058528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glowinghorizons/pseuds/glowinghorizons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Bellamy!” Monty greets, “Thanks for coming. I know you’re swamped with homework. This is Clarke. She’s new!”</i>
</p>
<p> <i>“Great,” Bellamy mutters, meeting the wide eyes of Clarke Griffin, who schools her features into boredom the second she takes him in. “Princess,” he says, nodding at her.</i></p>
<p> <i>“I will castrate you.”</i></p>
<p>
  <i>Monty looks warily in between the two of them. “So… I guess you guys have met?”</i>
</p>
<p> <i>“Oh, we’re old friends,” Clarke says cheerfully, a smile plastered on her face. “This is going to be so much fun.”</i></p>
<p><b>OR;</b> a <i>The Prince and Me</i> AU. Bellamy and Clarke meet in college. Bellamy is just trying to make it through his last semester, and Clarke is trying to keep a secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take the world

**Author's Note:**

> this fic is the result of a prompt on tumblr. full disclosure: i am not an expert on modern monarchies or any kind of royal hierarchies, so my knowledge for this comes purely from research done on wikipedia. i'm sorry in advance for any kind of inaccuracies! 
> 
> the title and lyrics inset come from the song "take the world" by johnnyswim. i don't own that song, or any of the characters from the 100 that i used in this fic. i also don't own the plot or general storyline behind "the prince and me", which was my inspiration for this fic.
> 
> special thanks to [katelyn](http://nathenmiller.tumblr.com) for being my beta and all around cheerleader for this fic. she also created the amazing picspam for this! i've hit the big time, you guys.

Bellamy is determined to get out of this semester unscathed. He has a year left until he finishes his Master’s program, and he’s worked too hard to let anything else get in his way. He’s all but isolated himself from his friends at this point, and while he feels bad about it, it’ll all be worth it, or at least that’s what he tells himself.

He thinks back to his literature lecture from the morning and wonders if he’s going to make it to the end of the semester at the rate he’s going. It’s only going to take one more argument with the blonde that sits in front of him to get him kicked out of class, and he’s not sure what he’ll do if he doesn’t find a more productive way to deal with the fact that she seems to know how to push all his buttons.

_ “Look princess, I get that this is your first literature lecture, but you can’t just assume that every antagonist has a sad backstory. Sometimes dudes are just evil.” _

_ The girl levels a glare at him so harsh it’s a wonder he doesn’t melt into nothing, he thinks, but he stands his ground. “First of all, my name is  _ Clarke _ , not princess, and secondly, that is not the case every time!” _

_ “The case is that girls like you want so badly to believe that every bad boy has redeemable qualities that you can’t stand it when someone questions that. You can’t make someone into a victim every time. Sometimes people just suck.” _

_ “Miss Griffin, Mister Blake—“ their professor tries to interrupt, but the blonde — Clarke — beats him to it. _

_ “You can’t claim that every time, though! I’m aware that not everyone has redeemable qualities, but you can’t throw a blanket statement over every book or movie villain—“ _

_ “Okay,” Bellamy says. “Have you seen Jessica Jones?” _

_ “Everyone’s seen Jessica Jones.” _

_ “Great. So, Kilgrave tries to pin his evildoing ways on his parents. Jess calls him on his bullshit right then and there. People still have decision-making skills and free will. Maybe their circumstances change their motivations, but the choice to act on their bullshit always lands squarely on their shoulders.” _

_ The room is pretty silent, and Clarke doesn’t say anything, she just scoffs and turns back around in her seat to face Professor Kane.  _

_ “If you two are done…” _

Clarke got dropped into their class three weeks into the year, after they’d already gotten through two books of course material. Now they’re examining literary tropes and have to analyze them, and it turns out analyzing things, especially things Bellamy’s written or said out loud, is Clarke’s favorite thing to do.

Bellamy sighs and tries not to think of all the homework he has to do after he gets home later that evening. He’s heading towards his shift at the cafe on campus where he works for the first time in almost two weeks - he had all but begged for time off to study, and Monty, one of his managers, texted him the day before to tell him that he needed to come in to help train a new employee. 

When he walks in, he wants to laugh. If this isn’t the most predictable, cliché, romantic-comedy type thing to ever happen—

“Bellamy!” Monty greets, “Thanks for coming. I know you’re swamped with homework. This is Clarke. She’s new!”

“Great,” Bellamy mutters, meeting the wide eyes of Clarke Griffin, who schools her features into boredom the second she takes him in. “Princess,” he says, nodding at her.

“I will castrate you.”

Monty looks warily in between the two of them. “So… I guess you guys have met?”

“Oh, we’re old friends,” Clarke says cheerfully, a smile plastered on her face. “This is going to be so much fun.”

“Right. Well, I need you to at least teach her the drink menu and train her on the register tonight. I can handle the rest of it,” Monty tells him, and Bellamy clenches his teeth so hard he thinks he might have cracked one or two.

“Sure,” he says, shooting her one last glare before heading to the back room to deposit his coat and backpack.

He is not going to make it through this alive.

.

.

.

Funnily enough, Clarke doesn’t murder him during their shift. Rather, she chooses to confront him directly outside the lecture hall for their class, pushing off the wall when she sees him approaching.

“I need to talk to you,” she says, and doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she’s gripping his wrist and dragging him into a secluded corner.

“Wow, Clarke, I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Shut up.” 

Bellamy frowns. “If you just dragged me over here to berate me—“

“I am not putting up with any more of your shit,” she says harshly. “Stop calling me  _ princess _ , stop questioning every move I make, and stop treating me like you’re so much better than me.”

Bellamy scowls. “Now, hold on,  _ you’re _ the one—“

“I’m the one who  _ dared _ to question Bellamy Blake— literary expert extraordinaire— in class? You’re right. Sorry Bellamy, but not everyone is going to agree with you all the time. Get over it.”

“You can’t just—“

“I can! Especially when we’re at work, Bellamy, it’s just not professional. You almost made me have a panic attack in front of a customer because I wasn’t making a latte fast enough or up to your standards!”

Bellamy feels a swift pang of guilt before he shakes it off. “Look, it’s not my fault that you’ve never worked before and can’t multitask—“

“How do you know I haven’t worked before?” she demands, hands on her hips.

“Oh, please.” Bellamy scoffs. “For one, you didn’t know how to use a time clock—“

“It looked different!”

“And secondly—” Bellamy continues, ignoring her, “—you literally didn’t know how to make a ham and cheese croissant. Ham and  _ cheese _ , Clarke.”

Clarke blushes, but he thinks it’s out of anger more than embarrassment. “Sorry we all don’t have extensive knowledge of breakfast sandwiches,” she snaps.

“No, you don’t. You know why? Probably because you got your breakfast brought to you on that silver platter you’ve been living off your whole life,” Bellamy sneers back, his tone of voice one he barely recognizes. He doesn’t know why the obvious signs that point to Clarke being rich make him so angry. He’s met tons of rich kids at college but none of them have ever gotten under his skin the way Clarke does.

He realizes they’ve both been quiet for too long to be considered  _ not _ awkward, so he clears his throat, getting her attention.

“You know what?” she says, her tone strange. “I’ll do us both a favor and just leave you alone. How’s that sound?”

She’s gone before he can say anything else.

.

That night, Bellamy calls Octavia to catch up. She’s in the police academy back in their hometown, living with their grandma to help her take care of the house that’s been in their family for years. He hates being away from her and his grandmother, hates not being there to take care of them, but he’s stopped trying to tell that to O. She’s insisted enough times that she can take care of things well enough for the both of them.

He tells her about his classes, and when she asks about work, he sighs and tells her about Clarke.

“You’re a real asshole sometimes, you know?” she tells him, and he grins when he hears their grandmother in the background scold her for her language. “I’m serious.”

“You don’t know what she’s like—“

“How bad can she be? She’s a college student. Is she hot? I bet she’s hot.”

Bellamy scoffs. “So shallow.”

“So she  _ is _ hot. Is that why she pisses you off?”

“She’s rich,” Bellamy says, ignoring his sister’s comments. “She’s rich and she doesn’t even  _ need _ this job, which makes me think she’s there solely to irritate me with all her questions—“

“She’s asking questions during job training? You’re right, Bell, she sounds like a monster.”

“… That’s not the point.”

“The point is, big brother, that you’re being a dick, and you should probably apologize before she accidentally cuts your hand off in the meat slicer.”

Bellamy is beginning to think sighing is becoming second nature to him.

.

.

.

When Bellamy arrives for his shift a few days later, Clarke is whispering heatedly with two people over the counter, and they all freeze when he walks in.

“Um…” Bellamy says, looking between the three of them with confusion.

“This is Raven, my roommate, and… our friend. Miller,” Clarke says. 

“Right,” Bellamy says, waiting for Clarke to introduce him, but when she doesn’t, he rolls his eyes. “I’m Bellamy.”

Raven’s eyes light up. “The lit class asshole!” 

“Apparently,” Bellamy says dryly. To Clarke’s credit, she looks a little sheepish. Bellamy walks by them to get to the back room and clocks in, tying his apron around his waist since he’s on sandwich duty for the first two hours of his shift. When he walks back out, Miller is gone, but Raven is still here, and she’s looking at him warily. “Where’s Clarke?” He asks.

“She went to the bathroom. Listen, stop giving her a hard time.”

Bellamy frowns. “She told you?”

Raven looks offended. “She tells me everything. All she said was that you guys fight a lot. I get it, okay, Clarke is stubborn and when she thinks she’s right she doesn’t like to back down. But she’s been through a lot this year and her home life is… it’s complicated. Don’t give her shit about family, okay?”

Bellamy opens his mouth to respond, but Clarke chooses that moment to come back behind the counter, and she stops, looking at Raven. 

“Are you causing trouble?”

The brunette smiles. “Always. I gotta run. I’ll see you later.” 

Clarke turns to Bellamy, hesitantly. “Sorry about her.”

Bellamy shrugs. “No worries. It’s good to have friends who look out for you.”

Clarke nods, but doesn’t say anything else. Bellamy tries not to take it personally.

Their shift is pretty uneventful. They get a little busy around lunchtime, and Bellamy can’t help but notice that the two of them make a pretty good team behind the counter — picking up each other’s slack and moving around each other wordlessly without much trouble. He also notices Clarke’s way with the customers. A pun here, a charming smile there… he thinks he seriously underestimated her, and he’s not sure what to do with that knowledge. 

At closing time, Clarke helps him out and then leaves without really saying more than five words to him, and he tries to shake off the guilty feeling that’s been lingering around in his stomach for the last few days. He knows he has a tendency to judge people at first sight. It’s one of the things he hates most about himself. He thinks it’s because he’s been on the receiving end of it so many times, that his mind automatically assumes the worst of people. It’s not fair, and it’s not something he wants to brag about, but he’s never felt the affects of it until he was face to face with a girl who openly resents him for judging her.

It’s a tough pill to swallow.

.

.

.

Two weeks go by without much more drama. Bellamy manages to balance a heavy course load with his work schedule and makes it back to Virginia to see his sister and his grandma one weekend, so all in all, he feels pretty good. 

Monday afternoon brings him to the lit class he has with Clarke, and he frowns when the lecture begins and Clarke still isn’t there. Clarke, to put it lightly, is the most organized person he’s ever met. She has a pencil case. A  _ pencil case _ . When she doesn’t show up for their lecture he figures maybe she was just swamped with other work, and heads to the library to make a copy of his notes for her because,  _ okay _ , he has the capability to not be a total asshole. 

He goes to work and she still doesn’t show up. She’s on schedule, and even Monty is a little worried.

“I haven’t heard from her. She’s never just not shown up.”

Bellamy frowns again, his overprotective instincts kicking in. He and Clarke might not get along, but it’s not like he wants anything to happen to her. He might be an asshole but he’s not cruel. Clarke doesn’t call or text either one of them, so when he and Monty close up, Bellamy decides to clear his conscience by going by her dorm. He figures if Clarke is sick or something, she could have at least texted Monty, or have Raven do it, so he’s a little worried when he pictures all these various scenarios that could explain why she wasn’t in class or at work.

He walked Clarke home once, despite her protests, and even though she insulted him the entire way, he remembers where her dorm is and manages to catch the door right as someone is coming out. He heads up the stairs, looking at all the signs on the doors until he sees one with some really amazing artwork that proclaims that dorm to be Raven and Clarke’s. He knocks, and waits a few seconds before knocking again. The door is wrenched open before he can knock a third time, and Clarke is there, leaning against the doorframe, her hair a mess and her eyes red.

“Bellamy?” she croaks, like she can’t quite believe her eyes. Truth be told, he can’t really believe he’s here either.

“You weren’t in class,” he blurts. “Or at work. Monty was worried.”

“I’m sick,” she says, unnecessarily. He can tell she’s not feeling well. Her sweatpants and t-shirt are rumpled like she’s been sleeping for a while, and he can tell by her voice that she’s congested. Hell, she’s barely holding herself upright, leaning most of her weight on the doorframe. “I meant to call, but I must have fallen asleep—“ She cuts herself off by shivering so hard he swears he can hear her teeth clacking together.

“Let’s get you back to bed,” Bellamy says, and he pauses for a second to see her eyes widen, probably at the gentle tone of his voice, but he can’t help it. He’s always been the one to take care of everyone, ever since he was little. It was ingrained in him to be the caregiver, and apparently that extends to classmates and coworkers now too. 

“You don’t have to—“

“Clarke, you can barely stand. Plus, I have notes for you from class.”

She seems unable to think about it, so she just moves to one side to let him pass and then follows him, shutting the door and locking it behind her. He sees a bundle of blankets on the small couch in the shared living space, so he heads that way, watching as she follows him silently, sinking down into her nest of blankets a few seconds later. “Raven is out of town for the week,” she says. “Or I would have had her call in for me.”

“No big deal,” Bellamy says. “I’ll let Monty know you can’t come in for a couple of days.

“I can work,” Clarke protests. “Really, I don’t need to call off, I know you guys need help, so—“

“Clarke,” Bellamy admonishes. “Stay home. Do you have anything to eat? Medicine?”

Clarke narrows her eyes. For a split second, Bellamy thinks about how adorable she looks, her hair and clothes rumpled and looking at him like he’s just suggested that she drop out of school, but he shakes it off, the feeling too weird for him to analyze at the moment. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she asks.

Bellamy shrugs. “I might be a dick but I’m not  _ mean _ . You’re sick. Being sick is the worst.” When she continues to look at him like he’s grown another head, he elaborates. “I have a younger sister. She always used to deny being sick, too. I know how to tell when someone’s faking it.”

She must see something in his face when he talks about Octavia because her eyes soften, and she gives him a small smile. “I didn’t know you had a sister. Makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

She turns onto her side, propping her head up with a pillow. “You like to take care of people.”

Bellamy ducks his head, embarrassed. “So?”

“So nothing,” Clarke says around a yawn. “I’m just pointing it out.” 

Bellamy stays there until Clarke falls asleep, and when he’s leaving, he turns back at the door to look at her for a minute, wondering why all of a sudden he feels like everything has changed.

.

A week later, Bellamy comes down with the same cold that Clarke had. He thinks he’s got it worse though, because he can barely get out of bed, let alone force himself to call into work.

“Bellamy?” He hears a voice, and he’s pretty sure he’s dreaming, because why else would Clarke Griffin be in his apartment? “Bellamy, you need to eat something.”

“How… how did you—“

“I picked your lock.” She sounds defiant, and he would laugh if it didn’t hurt his chest so much. “I brought you soup.”

“You didn’t make it, did you?”

“You’re hilarious,” Clarke says dryly. “I made  _ Monty _ make it.”

“Much better.”

“Just shut up and eat, would you?”

And just like that, he and Clarke Griffin are friends.

.

.

.

.

“You should come home with me for Thanksgiving,” he finds himself blurting out one rainy afternoon in November when the cafe is slow. He hadn’t meant to, but he overheard her talking to her Mom on the phone earlier, and he heard enough to know that Clarke had no plans for the holidays. She was too far away from her family to justify going home, he guesses. 

“What?” she asks, jolting upright from where she was leaning against the counter. “I—why?”

“You shouldn’t be by yourself on a family holiday,” he says, blushing. He doesn’t know why he asked. They’re only recently friends. They can hardly go through an entire day without yelling at each other for something, so a long weekend probably is not the wisest. And yet… he saw her face when she was trying to convince her Mom to come visit, and it’s not one he wants to see again. “Plus, Octavia is bringing her new boyfriend and I need you there to yell at me for being too protective.”

“Something tells me your sister can do a pretty good job of that on her own,” Clarke says dryly, and Bellamy hides his smile.

“You’re right, but don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Ever since he visited Clarke when she was sick, they’ve sort of reached a truce. They still fight over the dumbest things, but it’s more bantering than anything else. Not the mean spirited jabs they used to take at each other all day. He’s not sure what really changed. Maybe it was when he saw Clarke at her most vulnerable and he realized that maybe she wasn’t the terrible person he always made her out to be. Maybe it was something about the way that she wanted to come to work even when she was out of her mind with a fever, just so she wouldn’t be leaving him there alone. 

He’s not sure, but either way, he knows it easier now to think of Clarke as a friend, and not just some girl that he has a class with and works with.  “So?” he asks when she doesn’t respond.

“Um… I…. okay,” she says, shyly.

“Yeah?” Bellamy smiles despite himself. “Cool. I’ll, uh… I’ll tell my sister and my grandma that you’re coming.”

Clarke blanches, like she didn’t realize that his family would be home on a holiday. “I don’t want them to go to any trouble—“

“My grandma will probably get out the fine china, it’s fine,” Bellamy teases, laughing when she scowls at him. “She’ll probably welcome you to the family and try to give you some of her jewelry, and then she’ll—“

“Oh my  _ god _ ,” Clarke groans. “I am going to punch you.”

Bellamy laughs. This was going to be fine. He was being a good friend. Being alone on a holiday sucks, no matter how much Clarke is trying to pretend she doesn’t care. 

.

Later that night, Bellamy calls his sister to let him know that his plans have changed slightly. He holds the phone away from his ear as Octavia screeches. 

“You’re bringing a  _ girl _ home?!”

“It’s Clarke,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something, and hates that he feels himself blushing even though his sister can’t see him. “She was going to be by herself on Thanksgiving.”

“You’re so cute, Bell,” Octavia says, and he can just picture the shit-eating grin on her face (one that she learned from him, probably). 

“Shut up. Tell Gram, okay? Tell her not to freak out. Clarke is my  _ friend _ . We’re not getting married.”

“She’s totally going to give a speech at dinner.”

Bellamy heaves a sigh. “ _ God _ . You’re right. Remember that time you brought Harper over for dinner in eighth grade? You would have thought the queen was coming.”

“She’s going to be happy to see you, though,” Octavia says softly, and Bellamy smiles.

“I miss you guys too.”

.

He and Clarke leave for Virginia on the Monday before Thanksgiving. Their professors for the most part have taken pity on them and cancelled classes for the week, so they have a few extra days off. 

Bellamy has a beat-up truck that he’s had since he was a junior in college. It’s a piece of garbage, but it’s his first car, and he works on it almost every weekend to keep it up and running. He loves it.

Clarke does too, if her reaction when he pulls up outside of her dorm is any indication. “Oh my god. You’re a cowboy.”

“I’m not a cowboy. It’s  _ practical _ .”

“Whatever you say, Chuck Connors.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “Is that all you have?” he asks, grabbing her small duffel bag from her. 

“Was I supposed to bring more?”

“We’re going to be gone for five days. You did remember the part where I said  _ five days _ , right?”

Monty wasn’t super thrilled that they were both calling off for the better part of the week, but Bellamy argued that the shop was going to be closed on Thursday and Friday, and they were an on-campus café. No one was going to be around anyway.

“What else do I need? Are we going to a ball?”

“Not unless you’ve got one planned, princess.” He can’t resist the jab, but he sees it the moment her walls come back up and her eyes turn cold. He doesn’t know why the word slips out, but it did, and he can’t take it back now. She gets into the truck without a word, and he sighs, rubbing his face. It was going to be a long day.

The ride is pretty uneventful. It takes them a few hours to get to Virginia, and the speed limit in town is so low that it feels like they’re practically idling to his house. Clarke perks up when they get closer, the main road through town turning into a two-lane highway. It’s one of his favorite roads, and not just because it takes him right to the only place he’s ever felt completely comfortable. 

It’s pretty, he thinks, as he imagines it might be seeing it for the first time. It’s just now afternoon, and the sun is bright on the fields they drive past. 

“I like it here,” Clarke says, turning to face him. “I never pictured you coming from a small town.”

“I don’t really broadcast it.” He can feel Clarke’s gaze on him but she doesn’t ask any more questions, so he elaborates. “My dad left before Octavia was born. She and I have different dads. My mom… she tried her best, she really did. She was a seamstress, and business wasn’t great. I used to help her out when I could, working odd jobs whenever I wasn’t in school. We didn’t see her a lot, and… she… she died. Car accident. I was seventeen. Octavia was eleven.”

“Bellamy—“

“It’s okay. My grandma took us in, but she’s older. She couldn’t do it all on her own. I helped raise Octavia, and barely graduated from high school. It’s a miracle I got into college, honestly.”

She’s looking at him with a strange look on her face, but it’s not the same look of pity that he gets from other people. It’s almost like… almost like she _ understands _ , which is ridiculous. He can’t imagine she knows what it’s like to go through a childhood like he has. 

“Anyway. We never really have people over, so my Grandma is going to treat you like a queen. Get ready.”

He pulls up the long driveway, and grins when he sees his sister on the porch, her long legs dangling off the railing as she waits for him.  He puts the truck in park, and is barely out the door before she collides with him, pulling him close. 

“Hey, big brother,” she says fondly, and he swallows hard. He never realizes how much he misses her until he sees her again. 

“Hi,” he says, faltering when he sees Clarke standing there awkwardly, her bag in her hand. “O, this is Clarke. Clarke, this is my sister Octavia.”

“Hi Clarke, I’ve heard a lot about you,” Octavia says with a mischievous look in her eyes. 

Clarke doesn’t seem to be phased. “Likewise,” she says, shaking Octavia’s hand.

“Give that bag to Bellamy and come with me. I want to introduce you to our Gram,” Octavia says, and before he can protest, Clarke’s duffel is being thrust at his chest, and he takes it, stumbling backwards. 

“It’s fine, I’ll just be out here, struggling on my own,” he calls after them, but they don’t pay him any mind. 

By the time Bellamy gets his and Clarke’s things upstairs to their respective bedrooms, he can hear the sounds of soft laughter from the kitchen. He’s relieved, thinking that it’s got to be a good sound, and he wonders how he and Clarke ever got off to such a rough start. She seems to be able to charm anyone. 

“Bellamy Blake,” he hears when he gets downstairs, and he turns the corner to see his Grandma standing there, her hands on her hips. “You come over here and give me a hug right now,” she says sternly, and he grins. 

He remembers his Grandma being the most trustworthy person he ever knew growing up, and he doubts that’s going to change. There’s just something about her that makes him feel so at home and so comfortable. 

“Welcome home,” she says. “And I’m glad you brought Clarke,” she whispers in his ear, and he rolls his eyes, glad she can’t see him.

The rest of the afternoon is spent showing Clarke around, and mostly spending time lounging around. When the evening rolls around, he’s tired after driving home, and Clarke seems content to sit between him and his sister on their couch watching movies and eating junk food. 

“Tomorrow they’re having some kind of farmer’s market downtown. We should go,” Octavia tells him, and Bellamy groans. 

“Why? So everyone can ask me if I’ve settled down yet?” Bellamy complains. 

“What else are you going to do? Sit around here all day? Please.” Octavia admonishes. “Plus, I probably have to work for it anyway.” She turns to Clarke. “I’m in the police academy upstate. They let me do my training locally.”

“That’s kickass,” Clarke says, from where she’s half asleep slumped against the couch cushions. 

Bellamy glances at his watch. “You can go to bed if you’re tired, Clarke,” he tells her, his voice soft as he watches her. She seems different here, away from campus. 

“M’kay,” she mumbles, standing up with some help from Octavia. “See you in the morning,” she says, waving absentmindedly at the siblings.

Once she’s upstairs, his sister turns to him. “I thought you said she was terrible?”

Bellamy shrugs. “She was, when we first met.”

“To be fair, you were also an asshole when you two met.”

“That’s subjective.”

“Whatever.”

.

.

.

They go to the farmer’s market. Bellamy scowls the entire time, despite his sister’s protests that he just “quit acting like an asshole, already”. 

Clarke seems to enjoy herself, though, and that’s good. He was worried that she was feeling left out or like an outsider, and he didn’t want her to hate him after this week was over. Why he was so concerned about that now was beyond him, and he didn’t want to analyze it. 

“Can you stop frowning for two seconds?”

Clarke appears at his elbow, a leather jacket and fingerless gloves on, a beanie that he’s pretty sure used to be his perched on her head. She holds out her hand, and she’s got a caramel apple with nuts stretched out towards him. “Your face is going to stick like that.” 

Bellamy takes the apple, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. I just… I kind of hate these things.”

“Of course you do.” Clarke snorts. “Because you’re a grumpy old man.”

Bellamy shoves her playfully. He still stands by what he thought the night before – Clarke seems more comfortable here. He watches as she takes in the sights around her, her eyes twinkling in the glow of the fairy lights that are strung around. He swallows when he realizes he’s been staring, but he doesn’t have time to worry about if she’s noticed, because they’re interrupted. 

“Blake, long time no see,” a vaguely familiar voice says from behind him, and he turns around to see Finn Collins, a guy he went to highschool with, standing there grinning at him. 

“Finn,” Bellamy says, reaching out and shaking his hand. “How are you?”

“The same,” the boy grins, eyes lingering on Clarke. “I’m Finn,” he says, introducing himself. 

“Clarke,” she says, not bothering to elaborate who she is or why she’s here. Bellamy bites back a grin when she goes back to watching the sights around her, not giving Finn a second glance.

It’s not like Bellamy  _ hates _ Finn, but they clashed a lot growing up. For one, Octavia always had a crush on the guy, and that made Bellamy hate him on principle. For another thing, Finn and he were always competing for things – class president, in debate club. 

“I didn’t know you were going to be home,” Finn says, and Bellamy wants to laugh because  _ of course _ he’s home for Thanksgiving. “You guys should come to the bar tonight. Jasper is bartending,” he says, referring to another one of their friends from school. 

He’s talking to both of them, but his eyes are definitely on Clarke when he extends the invitation, and Bellamy feels something dark twist in his stomach when he sees the way Clarke smiles back at Finn. 

“Maybe,” Clarke says, politely. “We have to find Octavia at some point,” she says, nudging Bellamy with her elbow.

“Right.”

“The offer still stands. It would be great to catch up. I’ll see you around?” he asks, again, only looking at Clarke. 

“Can’t wait,” Bellamy bites out, and grabs Clarke’s hand, pulling her away. 

When they find Octavia, she’s with a handsome guy, about Bellamy’s age, in a police uniform. Bellamy tenses, knowing that this must be Lincoln, his sister’s new boyfriend.

“Calm down,” Clarke whispers to him, and he realizes two things: one, that he’s still holding her hand, and two, that he’s gripping it so tight it’s a wonder he hasn’t broken her fingers. 

“Sorry,” he mumbles, dropping her hand.

“Bell!” his sister says when she sees him, her eyes lighting up. “This is Lincoln. Lincoln, this my brother, Bellamy.”

“Good to meet you,” Lincoln says, his voice surprisingly gentle, before gripping Bellamy’s hand in a firm handshake.

“I’m Clarke, by the way,” Clarke interrupts, glaring half-heartedly at Bellamy as she introduces herself to Lincoln’s boyfriend. “Bellamy and I work together and have a class together.”

“Hi, Clarke.” 

“Did you guys run into Finn? He says we should go to the bar tonight. Jasper is going to be there.”

“Yeah, we saw him,” Bellamy says, still annoyed. “I don’t know about the bar.”

“You’re such a  _ grandpa _ ,” Clarke says. “Why don’t we go?”

Octavia is practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “We should go! Come on Bell, it’ll be a great place to show Clarke. Think of all the nights you spent there illegally in high school!” She winks.

Bellamy sighs, knowing this isn’t a battle he’s going to win. “Fine.”

.

A few hours later, they head to the bar. Octavia insisted that she and Clarke go back to the house to get changed, and Bellamy should have taken that for the warning it clearly was, especially when his sister winks at him over her shoulder as she leads Clarke away.

When they come back to meet him and Lincoln at the town square, Bellamy is proud to say that his jaw doesn’t drop, though it’s close.

For someone who calls Clarke ‘princess’ on the regular, he is not prepared for the sight of her, hair all done up and makeup put on a little heavier than she usually wears it. She’s still got her leather jacket on, but he thinks she borrowed some of Octavia’s clothes. 

Her eyes are dark but sparkling at the same time, and she’s got this… this  _ smirk _ on her face that he’s pretty sure is completely in reaction to the look on  _ his _ face. 

“Might want to wipe up that drool,” his sister teases as she walks by to grab Lincoln’s arm, and then he and Clarke are alone.

Clarke fidgets under his gaze, her cheeks turning pink. “Hey,” she says quietly, and he breaks out of his trance, smiling at her.

“Hey. She didn’t scare you too much, did she?”

“Your sister? No. She’s…” She trails off, looking down at her feet. “I’ve never had a lot of girlfriends. It’s nice to have someone to do makeup and feel girly with.” She looks up then, smiling shyly at him, and something inside his stomach lurches at the sight of her looking up at him through dark lashes, her lips painted a shade of inviting pink.

“Yeah,” he says, and  _ no _ , he doesn’t mean for it to come out in that tone. “Yeah,” he clears his throat. “Octavia’s good at that. She could be friends with a tree if she wanted.”

Clarke laughs. “Should we go in?”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

The evening goes by in a whirlwind. They say hi to Jasper, who is his usual crazy self, but Clarke seems charmed by him. Bellamy orders them all drinks, and pays, despite Clarke’s insistence that she can pay for herself. 

“Let me make up for being such an asshole all those other times, okay?” Bellamy huffs, and Clarke tries to hide her smile. 

By the time they’re ready to leave, close to two in the morning, Clarke is pretty drunk. Bellamy knew earlier he’d have to get everyone home in one piece, so he’s a little buzzed, but still coherent. 

“Bellamy!” Clarke says, colliding into his body. “Octavia got shots. You should do shots.”

“I think it’s time for us to go, Clarke,” he says, grabbing her arm to keep her steady.

Clarke frowns. “Really? We have to?”

He stops himself from smiling at her more than usual, because – well, drunken Clarke is  _ cute _ , and he is not prepared for any of this.  “Yes, we have to. Come on.”

“Bellamy, Bellamy, wait,” she says, “I just want you to know… I don’t think you’re an asshole. Not all the time.”

Bellamy snorts. “Gee, thanks.”

“No, no!” Clarke almost stomps her foot, he thinks. “No, I –  _ really _ . Bellamy, you’re just… you don’t even care where I come from, you don’t see me as anyone but myself, and that’s so great because everyone’s always asking me for favors and asking me—“

Clarke’s cut off by someone jostling into her side. By the time she rights herself, it’s as if she’s forgotten what she was saying in the first place.

“Okay. Time for bed,” Bellamy says, and when he finds Octavia and Lincoln, they head out the door, waving goodbye to Jasper as they go.

It’s not until they get home that Bellamy realizes he never saw Finn the entire night, which is weird, because he was the one that invited them there in the first place.

He rolls over, trying to get the look in Clarke’s eyes as he tucked her into bed out of his head.

.

.

.

.

The day of Thanksgiving is the coldest day of the week, and the Blake siblings plus Clarke spend most of the morning huddled under blankets in the living room watching movies. 

Towards the afternoon, Bellamy heads into the kitchen to see if he can help with any of the cooking, even when his Grandma tries to shoo him out. Clarke wanders in some time later, and offers her help.

“We won’t be able to eat anything, then,” Bellamy whines, and Clarke smacks him in the head with a recipe card.

“I can follow instructions, I’ll have you know.”

“You can help me with the pie,” his grandma tells her, and Clarke smiles at her gratefully. “It’s never too late to learn how to bake.”

Bellamy busies himself peeling and slicing potatoes, looking up every now and then to see Clarke elbow-deep in flour, that little crease in between her eyebrows present that only shows up when she’s concentrating on something. 

Bellamy only gets  _ slightly _ distracted by the sight of Clarke smiling and laughing with his Grandma and sister as they worked on Thanksgiving dinner, but he tries not to dwell on it.

.

That afternoon, when everything is just about ready, he is heading to his bedroom to change clothes when he passes the spare room, and hears Clarke on the phone.

“… They don’t know, how could I tell them? No, Raven…” She’s saying, and Bellamy can’t resist lingering in the hallway a little longer. He tells himself it’s because she sounds distressed, and even though they’re new friends, they’re still friends. He doesn’t want her to be worrying about anything on Thanksgiving. 

“She hasn’t called me,” Clarke continues. “I doubt I’ll hear from her at all. It’s just another day for them back home anyway.”

Bellamy shuffles quietly down the hall into his room, a frown on his face. He knew Clarke’s family wasn’t big on Thanksgiving, but he thought her mom would at least give her a call. 

He hears her head down the stairs a few minutes later, so he tries to forget it. It’s not his place, anyway, to try to analyze her home life. She wouldn’t want him to, and he doesn’t want to ruin this new… whatever it was. He wasn’t sure what was going on between he and Clarke anymore, but he knew they were finally friends, and it was much more preferable to the non-stop fighting they had been doing when they first met.

.

Dinner is amazing. Bellamy knows his Grandma is a great cook, but he forgot just how much he missed a home cooked meal when he was away at school. The pie that Clarke helped her bake turned out good too, and the pleased flush on Clarke’s face as she accepts praise from the family will most likely stay with Bellamy for the rest of their trip.

That night, he takes Clarke out to the barn on the far end of the property. She mentioned offhandedly the day before that she wanted to get some sketching done while she was away from school, and he figures this would be the best place for it.

“There’s a ladder over there.” He points towards it with one hand, the other hand carrying a heavy blanket he swiped from the house. “That’ll take you up to the loft. There’s an opening up there that should give you a pretty decent view.”

She heads up the ladder before him, and he passes her the blanket before climbing up after her. She spreads the blanket out and sits down, her sketchbook already in her lap before he can take a seat next to her. He can feel the heat radiating off her arm and her leg where they’re pressed up against his side, and he shivers. 

“Thanks for bringing me here,” she says.

He shrugs. “You said you wanted to draw.”

“No, I mean… for bringing me here, to your house. I… it’s just – it’s nice.”

Bellamy stares at her, this girl who only a few months ago he couldn’t stand to be in the same room with. He wonders how he ever misjudged her so much. “It’s nothing,” he says.

Clarke turns to face him more directly. “It is, though. I -- my relationship with my mom isn’t the best. I’m not sure I would have done anything for Thanksgiving except sitting around feeling sorry for myself. You didn’t have to invite me here with your family, but you did. It means a lot to me.” 

Bellamy swallows thickly as he registers how close they are to each other, and how her gaze keeps drifting down to his lips. He’s not sure who moves first – he thinks it’s him – but the next thing he knows, Clarke is pressed up against him, her lips moving in tandem with his. She lets out this noise, this soft sigh, and he thinks that’s what does him in. He’s never realized how much he’s wanted to kiss her until he’s got one hand threaded through her hair, and the other tight on her hip until she’s practically in his lap.

Her hands are tugging at his hair, pulling him closer, and he lets out a muffled noise of his own, his hands leaving her hair in favor of settling low on her back, supporting her as she arches towards him.

Their mouths part for a minute and he rests his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath. His mind is a jumbled mess of emotions, and he can’t do anything but to pepper small, feather-light kisses against her forehead, her cheeks, her chin, as she smiles up at him, nuzzling closer to his chest.

“Bellamy,” she whispers, and he thinks it’s the nicest thing he’s ever heard in his life. 

.

He wakes up the Sunday they’re due to go back to campus with Clarke in his arms. They’ve slept in the same bed every night since they kissed in the loft, but haven’t gone any further than some searing kisses and touches that light fires in his veins. 

He likes sleeping next to her, though. She’s soft, and warm, and she’s always wrapped around him when he wakes up. 

“Cold,” Clarke murmurs as he shifts, reaching for the corner of the quilt that she must have thrown off herself in the middle of the night. 

“Better?” he asks, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. 

“Mhmm,” she hums, pressing closer to him, her hand curling and then flattening to lie over his heart. “We have to go back today,” she says, sounding disappointed.

“We’d be bored if we stay here too much longer,” he argues, and she scoffs.

“Speak for yourself.”

He smiles, yawning before turning onto his side, facing her. He brushes a lock of hair out of her eyes, propping his head up on his hand. “It smells like breakfast. We should eat before we get going.”

“Fine,” Clarke says, haughtily. “If you’re going to make me.”

“Oh, I’ll make you, alright,” Bellamy mock-threatens, making her laugh as he rolls her underneath him and kisses her until both of them are breathless.

.

.

.

Their first week back on campus goes by just fine, and that should have been Bellamy’s first clue that everything was about to go to shit, because that’s just how his life works. 

He and Clarke are in the library, studying for their Lit class, but he’s more distracted by her than he’s ever been. It’s something about the way she’s got a permanent smile etched on her face, and how she keeps glancing up at him, blushing when she finds his eyes already on her.

After a few more minutes, Clarke stands abruptly, stretching. She leans in, close to his ear, and whispers. “Follow me.”

He grins, already one step ahead of her, and they walk briskly towards the back of the library, passing row after row of books until they find one that’s partially dark, and more importantly, empty. She tugs him in behind her, and she’s barely turned around before he’s on her, capturing her mouth in a fiery kiss as he pushes her up against the wall behind her.

She gasps into his mouth as his hands swiftly find their way up underneath her cotton shirt, her skin warm and pliant under his hands. He groans when her hands do the same to him, tugging his shirt upwards. 

He forgets where they are, and whips his shirt off before he can even think about what he’s doing, his only concern pressing Clarke up against the wall once more, tugging her left leg up around his hip. 

He thrusts against her unconsciously when she tugs at his hair, and she gasps out his name at the pressure.

Suddenly, bulbs flash behind their closed eyelids and they break apart quickly, gasping for breath. "Shit," Clarke breathes, and Bellamy fights back the bolt of arousal that shoots through him at the tone of her voice.

"What the fu--" he curses when he sees a throng of photographers suddenly surround them, and then Clarke is grabbing his hand, and they're running through the library. "Clarke," he says urgently, trying to tug her to a stop but she doesn't let up, not until they're halfway to the door. 

"Clarke!" one of the photographers shouts. "What does your mother think of your new boyfriend? How are you going to explain this to parliament?"

Clarke goes white. 

"Parliament--?"

"Bellamy, we have to get out of here--"

"What are they talking about?"

"Bellamy, please," she begs, more desperate than he's ever heard her, so he goes with her, the two of them bursting through the double doors at the far end of the library until they're in the small alley that separates the library from the lecture hall next door.

"What the hell was that?" he asks her when they get outside, dread coiling inside of him at the desperate look on her face.

"You weren't supposed to find out like this," she says, almost to herself, and it feels like she's kicked him in the stomach.

"Find out what, Clarke," he asks, his tone deceptively calm.

"I'm... I'm..." she starts, and tears are welling up in her eyes, and he doesn't know if he should listen to his instincts and comfort her, or start feeling desperate himself. 

"Tell me," he says, and the first tear spills over her lashes onto her cheek. 

"I'm... I'm a duchess."

His mind goes blank. He can't even begin to comprehend what she's telling him, so he stays quiet. 

"I'm taking classes in social justice and international law so that I can be better prepared to take over for my mother when she gives up her title."

"I--" he starts, before realizing he doesn't know what to say. All he can think about is how he's always felt so far out of her league, and now it seems like his worst fears are coming true. “What are you  _ talking _ about?”

“I—I’m not… this isn’t the Princess Diaries,” she says, her tone bitter. “I was born to Abigail and Jake Griffin, who are Duke and Duchess of Arkadia, respectively.” 

Bellamy doesn’t know what to think. “That doesn’t make you a duchess, that makes you—“

“Technically a princess,” Clarke says through her tears, her tone bitter and sarcastic. “I know, ironic, right? Your favorite nickname was right on the mark.”

“How… how—“

“My Dad was killed. I don’t know all the details, but it was politics. My mother… she doesn’t want her title anymore. It doesn’t work like that, not quite, but my father’s will instructed that the estate and all the money be left to me. That’s why I had to learn more about international politics and how to run an estate.”

“You don’t have an accent,” he says, like that’s supposed to mean something. Like that would mean this whole thing is just one big joke.

“My Dad is American. He and my mother met when they were in college. I take after him, I guess.”

Bellamy feels like his ears are ringing. He feels like he’s being punk’d, which would be preferable to finding out that the girl he’s pretty sure he’s falling in love with has been lying to him since the minute they met. "Were you ever going to tell me?"

"I was! Bellamy I swear, I swear I wanted to tell you--"

"You lied to me," Bellamy accuses, his blood running cold as he remembers all the things he's told her about his life; all his fears and dreams and how he doesn't know if anything she told him in response is actually true.

"No! I just... I just omitted the truth. I didn't know how to tell you, I didn't know how to tell you that I'm--"

"That you're royalty?" Bellamy spits the word. "You didn't think that would matter? You didn't think that your lot in life would matter?"

"I just wanted to be Clarke," she says, her voice so quiet that he can barely hear her. "I didn't want you to judge me. I just wanted you to know me."

Bellamy almost gives in, almost pulls her to him like he's been wanting to ever since they were interrupted, but then he remembers their trip back to his house in Virginia, and how she sympathized with him about how he and Octavia grew up.

“How—does anyone else know?”

She looks down. “Miller and Raven. Raven is my -- she lives with me back home. Miller is my bodyguard.”

“Unbelievable.” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair and begins pacing. He doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to react, or how to begin processing this. “I knew this was too good to be true. I knew someone like you would never stoop so low as to slum it with someone like me.” He doesn’t recognize the tone of his voice. He feels a little bit like crying himself.

“That’s not true,” she protests, more tears streaking down her face. “I never… I never counted on finding you, Bellamy.”

“It doesn’t matter!” he shouts, his voice echoing off the walls. “You should have told me the first time you had the chance. Instead you let me think… you let me think I actually had a chance with someone like you.”

“Bellamy, please,” Clarke pleads, but Bellamy can’t look at her anymore. He needs to leave before he says anything else he’ll regret. He doesn’t want to look at the hurt on her face. 

“I have to go.”

“Bellamy—“

“Don’t. Just… just leave me alone. Okay?”

He heads back to his apartment in a daze, fighting the urge to turn around and make sure she’s not falling apart like he is every step of the way.

.

.

.

Bellamy spends the next five days hiding out in his apartment. He ignores all of Clarke’s calls and texts, and only goes to work when Monty threatens to fire him if he doesn’t.

When he gets to work, Clarke isn’t there, and he’s relieved, but also angry. Why does she get to run away? She’s the one who lied, who made him believe she felt the same way about him that he does about her. 

Monty comes in around halfway through his shift, and stares at Bellamy, a disappointed look on his face, until Bellamy snaps. “What?” he asks harshly.

“Clarke gave her notice.”

Bellamy is surprised, but tries to school his face back into nonchalance. “I didn’t figure she’d be hanging around too long anyway.”

“I did,” Monty retorts. “Now I’m a barista short and it’s almost Christmas. Our busiest time of the year.”

“Why are you talking to me like this is my fault?”

“I don’t know,” Monty says, his tone sharp. Bellamy has never heard him sound like this. “Maybe because when she gave her notice, I asked her if she told you she was leaving, and she almost started crying right there in my office?”

“Leaving?” Bellamy stops what he’s doing, his apron hanging limply from one hand. “You mean quitting, right?”

“She didn’t just give her notice. She’s leaving. Like, going home. Transferring. Whatever.”

Bellamy feels like his head is swimming again, like he’s been hit over the head with something heavy. “I have to—I’ll be right back.” 

He’s out the door before Monty can tell him to come back.

.

Bellamy runs almost the entire way to Clarke’s dorm. However he feels about her and her life, he knows that he  _ cares _ about her most of all, in more way than one.  

He never expected her. He never expected to like her, or to feel like she’s someone that he’s been waiting for, for his entire life. She just… she makes him feel like he’s someone that deserves something good. He’s never been a big believer in fate or anything like that, but he thinks that they became friends for a reason. He has to believe that. He has to believe that they can still find their way back to each other even after all the things he said to her days earlier.

When he gets to her dorm, the door is open, and his heart lurches when he sees movement inside. 

“Clarke—“ he calls before he gets inside, but he stops short.

“Not Clarke,” Raven says, from where she’s limping across the room, the brace on her leg gleaming in the dim light as she packs up a few boxes.

The room is almost entirely empty. The closet is bare, the bed stripped of sheets, all the furniture gone. Bellamy feels his stomach swoop with dread. 

“I’m surprised you’re here,” Raven says. 

“I just—I wanted to see her,” he says, and the way Raven is looking at him leaves no doubt that Clarke filled her in on what had happened between she and him.

“She left yesterday. I’m sending the rest of her boxes and then I’m following.” She sets a box down on the old mattress, eyeing him warily. “Do you want to tell me what really happened? She wouldn’t say anything other than that she ‘didn’t belong here’ and that she wanted to go back home.”

Guilt is not a strong enough word for what Bellamy feels, knowing that Clarke has essentially dropped out of school and left everything behind because of him. 

“Can I—Can you—I need to talk to her.”

“Look, Bellamy. I don’t know all the details of what went on between the two of you. All I know is that Clarke was more upset when she left than I’ve seen her in a long time. Why would I let you talk to her?”

“Because,” Bellamy starts angrily, before schooling his temper. “Because, I need… I need to apologize, and I also need to ask her some more questions. I don’t—she told me who she is.”

Raven looks a little surprised, but mostly just unimpressed. “And? She was instructed to keep it a secret, okay? It wasn’t like she didn’t want you to know, not really. That might have been part of it, but she could have been in serious trouble if she told anyone.”

Bellamy’s anger wilts a bit at the thought. He thinks about Miller, and how he was always close to Clarke, and thinks about what could have happened if someone who wanted to take advantage her found out who she really was.

“I think I’m in love with her,” he confesses, his voice hoarse. “I don’t—I’m not good at this. I’ve never had any reason to trust someone like Clarke, and that’s why I was so angry when she told me who she was, who her family was.”

Raven watches him, her eyes softening at his confession. “What are you still doing here, then?”

Bellamy’s head snaps up as he meets her eyes. “What?”

“I said,” she repeats impatiently, “What are you still doing here? Shouldn’t you be on a plane?”

.

.

.

.

Bellamy and Raven get off a plane at London’s Heathrow airport late the next night, and Bellamy is sick with exhaustion, and with nerves. 

He has no reason to believe this will work, that Clarke will find it in her heart to forgive him for being such an asshole, yet again. He still has a lot of answers he wants from her, too, but he knows he needs to figure out his own shit first.

Raven gets them a cab, and before he knows it, they’re standing on the circle drive of a large house. 

“Home sweet home,” Raven mutters, thrusting her suitcase at Bellamy. “The least you can do is carry this.”

Bellamy rolls his eyes. “If you’re so sure they’re not going to kick me out as soon as I go inside.”

“They’re not going to kick you out.” She sounds exasperated. “I’m going to go in and make sure Clarke is… well, honestly I’m going to make sure she’s okay. Wait here.”

“What do you want me to do with your luggage?”

“Wait until I come get you.” 

It’s the longest ten minutes of Bellamy’s life. When the door opens again, he doesn’t look up as he says, “Come to relieve me of luggage duty?” He drawls sarcastically. 

“Not quite,” comes the reply, but not from the girl he’s expecting. 

He almost drops the suitcase in his haste to whip his head up and lays eyes on Clarke for the first time in a week. 

“Clarke,” he says, and he can’t remember the last time he felt this… this  _ happy _ to just see another person. Maybe with his sister. This is different, though.

“I have to tell you, this is the last place I thought you’d be,” she says, coming closer. She’s dressed in pajamas, nothing but flannel drawstring pants and an oversized sweatshirt. She looks beautiful, and he wants to kick himself for not realizing it sooner.

“You and me both,” he tells her gruffly. “Clarke, I’m—“ 

“Wait,” she says, holding up her hand. She takes a few tentative steps closer to him. “Just… let me go first. I… I should have told you as soon as I realized I liked you. I never thought you were below me, Bellamy, I swear. I never want you to feel like that again.” She’s wringing her hands in front of her and he has to physically hold himself back from reaching for her hands. “We got off to such a rocky start, and you kept calling me  _ princess _ like it was the worst insult you could come up with, and I thought… I thought you would never even look at me again if you knew.” 

“I’m sorry,” Bellamy blurts. “I’ve always… I’ve always had to prove to everyone that I wasn’t just some poor kid from the country. It’s not your fault, though. I should never have treated you like I did when we first met.”

“You weren’t wrong though,” Clarke says. “I’m exactly who you thought I was.”

“No,” Bellamy shakes his head, coming closer until they’re inches apart. He reaches for her hand, lacing their fingers together. “No. You’re… okay, so you’re technically a princess.” He lets out a small chuckle, relieved when he hears her watery laugh. “But you’re more than that. You’re a girl who lost her Dad, and less than a year later, went to school halfway across the world just to take better care of her people. You’re the girl who kept trying to be my friend even after I was the worst to you.” He reaches down, touching her face lightly. “You’re the girl who came home with me and made me feel proud to be from where I was from instead of ashamed.”

“Bellamy—“ she croaks, but he shakes his head.

“I’m not done. You’re  _ Clarke Griffin _ . Duchess of… of where ever,” he says, flustered, but gratified when she laughs again, “But you’re also just Clarke. You’re the Clarke that shares a lit class with me, and makes crappy lattes on Wednesdays with me. You’re the Clarke that I’m pretty sure I’m falling in love with.”

He has to stop and breathe for a second as she listens intently.

“I’m sorry,” he continues. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you explain. I thought there was no way you could ever want to be with someone like me. I thought you were just… just having some fun until reality set in and you had to come home.”

Clarke’s eyes are impossibly blue as she looks up at him, and he knows without a doubt then that he’s a total goner. “You owe me,” she says playfully, and his heart constricts. “Just for that I’m going to make you meet my mother.”

“Say it isn’t so,” Bellamy says distractedly as she tugs him closer, but then his lips are on hers, and he’s pretty sure he doesn’t want to think about anything other than kissing Clarke Griffin for the rest of his life.

.

.

.

.

_ one year later _

Bellamy fidgets with his tie, eyes glancing around the crowd anxiously. His fake diploma feels wrinkled in his hand, but he doesn’t care. He gets his real one in the mail in a few months, and that’s all that matters.

He actually did it. He completed his Master’s program on time and without any major hiccups, and he can’t wait to be out of the academic world, at least for a few months before he begins his teaching position.

“I can’t believe you tricked these people into giving you a degree, Mr. Blake,” a husky voice near his ear says, and he grins, turning around to see Clarke, looking very formal in a blouse and pencil skirt. 

“How dare you. That’s  _ Doctor _ Blake, to you.” He says before leaning in to press a chaste kiss to her lips. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it. Plus someone had to keep your sister occupied,” she says, turning to where Octavia is waiting with their grandmother and Lincoln.

“What time do we have to get back?”

“Our flights are in the afternoon tomorrow. Plenty of time to celebrate.” 

Clarke is still set to take over for her mother after she steps down. It’s a tricky thing, giving up a title, but since Clarke’s father specified in his will that all the land and duties should go to his daughter, it had been carefully arranged by a gaggle of lawyers. 

Bellamy and Clarke are getting married in the fall. After that, he’d technically be helping her run the estate, though he’s also accepted a history teaching position at one of the smaller universities in England. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Clarke whispers to him as they make their way over to his family, and he slings an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him.

He kisses the side of her head gently and wonders how he ever got so lucky. He’s still not sure he took enough political science electives to get away with helping her run things for her parents, but he knows that whatever happens, they’ll get through it like they’ve gotten through everything else life has thrown at them: together.

.

_Cause they can write stories_  
_They can sing songs_  
_But they don’t make fairy tales_  
_Sweeter than ours_

**Author's Note:**

> find this fic and others i've written for t100 + other fandoms or just come say hi on my [tumblr](http://dreamingundone.tumblr.com)!


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